


Arrivals

by seamscribe



Series: The Highgarden Series [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, F/M, First Times, Fluff, Oral Sex, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: Jaime and Brienne meet for the second time a week before their wedding.





	1. Arrivals Part 1

  


 

Arrivals

  


 

    In a perfect world, Jaime Lannister’s arrival to Highgarden would have been a splendid affair, with all the pomp and circumstance that such a noble marriage deserved.

 

    In the real world, however, Highgarden is much too long of a detour, and their reunion instead takes place at an inn where the Goldroad and the Roseroad meet, a few days’ ride still from King’s Landing, where their wedding will take place in a sennight, only a year and change late. The inn is nice, of course, but it is no castle.

 

    Still, the sight of Tyrell and Tarth banners side-by-side from down the road is enough to make Jaime feel dazzled as he makes out the positively _giant_ form of his fiance and the comparatively diminutive form of the Little Rose, atop proud Tyrell stallions, in fine cloaks, surrounded by a dozen men at arms.    

 

    Jaime immediately wonders whether she’s wearing britches under her dress. In such  close quarters with Lady Olenna, he rather doubts it, although the old lady hadn’t ridden out with their party, so who knows.

 

    Her dress is still the Highgarden style, but with sleeves underneath. It’s a shame; he had so wanted to see her arms again. The extent of her freckles is not quite apparent and he missed them. The dress is richly embroidered--by someone else, probably Margaery--and fits well. He supposes that Highgarden is coming to Casterly Rock in this case.

 

    Once he’s within earshot, she calls, “Forgive the modest reception, my Lord. I thought you might prefer it to yet more delays.”

 

    “You thought right, my Lady,” Jaime says, catching her eyes. Oh, those eyes he’s dreamt of. They both dismount and cross the small distance. Neither seems entirely certain what to do for a moment until, smirking, Jaime takes her hand and drops to one knee. “Brienne of Tarth,” he intones, with as much formality and drama as he can. “I have waited for this day with my entire being.”

 

    Brienne scoffs under her breath, then says, “And I, you, Ser Jaime.” He stands up and Brienne puts a hand to her cheek and mumbles, “Oh no, I forgot to curtsey!” She gives a furtive look around and quickly performs much the same deep and graceless curtsey she had two years ago in Highgarden. In the background, Margaery shakes her head with a fond smile. The chuckles around them are not necessarily mean-spirited, but Jaime glares around anyway, on principle.

 

    When they adjourn to the inn, Brienne sidles up to him and huffs, “You didn’t have to be so dramatic back there. It was embarrassing.”

 

    “I was being romantic. I know you know the word. I’ve seen your bookshelf, Brienne.”

   

    “Ask first next time,” she grumbles.

 

    “Ah, already my wife is nagging me.” She gives him a familiar look and starts to speak. Jaime cuts her off with, “Let me guess, we’ll fight as soon as we get to the inn?”

 

    “...Not _that_ soon, I’m afraid. Prepare yourself, my Lord. What we are to face at the inn is devastating boredom, boredom beyond imagination. At least _you_ will be able to talk about swordplay. All anyone in my party wants to talk about is _flowers_.”

 

    “Ample opportunity to tell them no roses.”

 

    Indeed, once they arrive at the inn, there is only enough time to freshen up after the long trip before Jaime finds himself seated across from Brienne at a modest feast at a private table in the dining room of the inn. It might have been nice enough, but Brienne is seemingly tongue-tied and feeling shy, only occasionally hitting him with that powerful gaze.

 

    Still, he’s glad to see that everyone in the party from Highgarden is respectful of her and most seem rather fond of her, treating her with a bit less of the formal air than they do Margaery, perhaps because she’s always in and out of the training yard and studying diligently with the maester. A few of her ladies-in-waiting seem a bit unsure what to make of her, having really just hitched a ride to King’s Landing to look for rich husbands, but they’re courteous.

 

    Any Lannister man with an ear knows better than to speak ill of her. In fact, word has spread to other houses, too, and it’s now quite well-known that he’s willing to fight most anybody over the honor of his betrothed. He does not, however, claim that she is beautiful--he thinks she would likely hate that. He generally lets his sword do the talking, and he’s very good.

 

    He’s decided to have a sword made for her at Casterly Rock as a wedding gift. She has often drawn them in the corners of her letters, and had once longingly described what her perfect sword would be like, complete with very detailed illustration. Perhaps he can find a way to get her knighted and they can travel Westeros, saving maidens and slaying bad knights.

 

    Dinner finally ends and Jaime catches her hand when there’s some distraction and they sneak outside to the stables, out of sight of the door to the inn.

 

    “Jaime, you’re going to get us in trouble,” she protests, with barely half a heart, excitement coloring her voice.

 

    “What can they do? Make us walk to King’s Landing?”

 

    The stables are dark and empty, as he was hoping.

 

    “You’re a troublemaker, Jaime Lannister,” she smiles. Knowing only her smile and the flash of her eyes, Jaime thinks that, in this light, she could almost be a beauty.

 

    “Oh, so are you, wench,” he says, reaching up and touching the ends of her short hair, still an inch or two above her shoulders, with a far more wavy quality than it had when it was longer. “You’re a famous one, even. Everyone will want to talk to you at King’s Landing.”

 

    “Is it too late to pretend I’m mute?”

 

    As Jaime laughs, a smile spreads slowly and inexorably across her face and she ducks her head for a moment before looking up at him. “Do you know,” she says, her voice dropping to a low, rich tone. “It’s been two years since we spoke, yet it seems like no time has passed?”

 

   “Yes.”

 

    Wringing her hands in front of her, she confesses, “I missed you. Isn’t that silly?”

 

    “Why?”

 

    “That I could miss you after only three days.”

 

    He takes her hand and draws her closer, the sound of her breath catching barely audible over the rustling of her gown. “Then we’re both silly.” He cups her face and leans forward to kiss her. It has been some time since he’s kissed, but the feel of her plush lips yielding under his, tasting of the honey she had in her tea, is more than enough to bolster his courage. Holding her there, he can hear her heart pounding for a moment before she breathes out and opens her lips to his.

 

    “You taste sweet,” he mumbles after a few moments. Brienne makes a vague noise under her breath and jumps forward to kiss him again with the same determination in her eyes she gets when she’s fighting, like this is something she wants to prove herself at. With a bit of somewhat cowardly relief, Jaime lets her direct for a few minutes, keeping his hands chastely on her arms even when they itch to slide into her hair and tilt her mouth the way he thinks will be _just right_.

 

    Brienne pulls away suddenly with a huff, saying, “You know, you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to.”

 

    “What?” Jaime protests, catching her hands. “I was letting you do what you like.”

 

    She tilts her head at him and says, “I don’t _know_ what I like.” She hesitates, then asks, “Have you kissed another girl?”

 

    “Yes...before we met. Am I very good?”

 

    Throwing her hands up, she says, “How should _I_ know?” She makes a frustrated noise and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ll have to show me. What’s to like.”

 

    “Well, first off,” he says, pulling her arms down and putting his hands on her waist, feeling her sudden breath at the touch. “You’ll have to let me a _little_ closer than that.” Jaime presses her against the wall and kisses her swiftly. The noise she makes when he finally pulls away is one that she has probably, he thinks proudly, never made before. “What about you? Been practicing with anyone?”

 

    “Don’t be stupid,” she murmurs, not opening her eyes. “Do that again,” she sighs. He kisses her again, for a long moment, until he feels dizzy. He leans against her and she shivers as she feels the full hardness of his cock pressing against her hip. Her eyes go wide and she says, “Is that?--Wow!--I didn’t truly believe it could change shape like that!”

 

    “Yes, well, seeing is believing, wench.”

 

    “I can’t see, though.”

 

    “Not with your _eyes_ , anyway.”

 

    Her eyes widen again, but before anything else can occur, there’s noises from the front of the stable, Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell chatting idly. Unfortunately, he and Brienne are close enough to the door that he barely has time to move away before the pair spot them.

 

    “Why, beloved foster sister,” Loras says gleefully. “Are you out here being _improper_?”

 

    Turning red, Brienne replies, “We were looking at horses.”

 

    “In the dark.”

 

    “Oh, go on, Loras, give them a break,” Renly chuckles. “Would you like to join us for a ride?” Loras audibly groans and Renly talks over him, saying, “Chaperoning.” Then he winks, quite outlandishly.

 

    They take him up on the offer and it isn’t long at all before the two men turn to them and Loras says, “Let’s split up and meet back up in an hour. I’ll whistle.” He smirks and adds, “Don’t do anything I’d do...or anything _you’d_ do either, for that matter.” He and Renly ride off without waiting for a reply.

 

    Brienne makes a face at her foster brother’s back and mutters under her breath for a moment before turning to him.

 

    “So I suppose you know a good place to sit down, wench? Been putting your britches to work surveying the land?”

 

    Brienne glares, but does reply, “I know a place. It’s a bit rocky…”

 

    “I have my bed roll.”

 

    Her mouth falls open and her cheeks darken before she stammers, “It’s--the time--it’s an... _unseemly_ time for an unwed maiden to be out with a man, you know.”

 

    “ _Unseemly?_ You know it sounds a bit exciting when _you_ say it.”

 

    “Ser Jaime!”

 

    “Say it again.”

 

    “What? _Unseemly_?”

 

    “Mm, _yes.”_

 

    “You’re impossible,” she says, shaking her head with a smile creeping onto her lips. She clears her throat and says, “This way, my Lord.”

 

    “My Lady,” Jaime replies, following closely behind her in the dark. “Do you know your voice changed?”

 

    “Yes, I can no longer sing the same songs with Margaery. She was very sad.”

 

    “It’s interesting. I should like to hear you sing.”

 

    “I’ve no doubt I’ll be forced to.”

 

    “Perhaps you’ll sing just for me.” She gapes at him and is almost hit in the head by a low branch. “My goodness, my Lady, a private concert is no cause for such a look. What thoughts do you have on your mind, wench?”

 

    “None that you haven’t put there!”

 

    “How far are we from this place, anyway?”

 

    “Can’t you hear?”

 

    Pausing, he does hear the sound of moving water, and it’s only another few minutes until they arrive at a modest strip of beach on the banks of the river.

 

    “Well done, wench,” he says admiringly, getting down from his horse. She follows and waits silently while he lays out the bed roll. It really doesn’t fit them both at all, so Jaime is mostly on the rocky sand, which is thankfully dry, but which will be in every inch of his clothing.

 

    He kisses her again, pulling her close, and she makes a surprised noise. “Isn’t it supposed to go down?”

 

    “Eventually, if there’s nothing exciting going on.”

 

    “We were just riding over here!”

 

    “Over here, to be _alone_.”

 

    “Oh...is it uncomfortable?”

 

    “I’ll live, I promise.”

 

    They kiss a bit longer, warm and wet and driving him utterly mad until he wonders if he _will_ live, after all. There’s still a sennight to the wedding. He has already been, as she delicately put it in her letters, taking himself in hand, often to the updated sketches she sometimes sent him. He considers telling her that, but her soul might leave her body, or she might punch him.

 

    Finally, Brienne pulls away, red and panting, and says, “So that’s how the tongue is supposed to go! Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” She punches his shoulder. “It’s a mysterious matter to a young maiden, okay, and that Dornish book didn’t come with an instructional section!”

 

    “I’m surprised your dubious septa didn’t try to give you the details.”

 

    “Oh, she did, but I was so mortified that I ran out of the room, didn’t I? _Stop laughing_! Besides, don’t act like you don’t enjoy playing teacher,” she says, pointing a finger at him. Jaime grabs it and bites it and she yelps, yanking her hand back. “You’re awful.”

 

    “You adore me.” He clasps his hands over his heart and says, in a comically high voice that doesn’t match hers by any stretch, “ _My heart is yours, Jaime.”_

 

    “Look, I was feeling light-headed when I wrote that,” she huffs.

 

    “You felt dizzy just thinking of me? That’s so sweet.” She hits him again. “Ah! Okay, speaking seriously, you’ve grown very tall. I should like to see if your legs are as long as I’m picturing,” he grins, grasping the front of her gown. She lets out a yelp and jumps, slapping his hands away. “What was that noise? It was hilarious,” he says, reaching for her skirts again.

 

    “If you rip this dress, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life,” she warns.

 

    “I’ll only tear it if you keep fighting!” They play tug-of-war over the fabric for a moment before he lets go. Brienne falls back with an indignant noise. “I’ll just look from down here,” Jaime says, scooting down and grasping the hem of her gown.

 

    “Ser Jaime! What are you doing?!”

 

    “Oh, don’t act so shy, wench, I’m sure you saw this in your Dornish book.”

 

    “Surely you don’t mean to do that _now_ ? Can you even _see_ down there?”

 

    “Mm, I don’t think I’ll need to see,” Jaime says, sliding one hand up the back of her leg and bracing himself in case she decides to kick him.

 

    She doesn’t kick him. In fact, she takes a sharp breath and spreads her legs, letting his hand trail up past her knee. He finds muscle there, enough to hold onto, and that makes her shiver. The inside of her thigh is as soft as silk and probably as pale as the moon overhead. She trembles, whether with nerves or anticipation, he cannot know.

 

    They both seem to hold his breath as he reaches the satin of her small clothes, groaning at the heat he finds there. He presses the heel of his hand against her and hears her moan softly, looking up in time to see her tilt her head back, her mouth open. He presses harder, feeling the tangle of her hair through the fabric, and feeling the place where she will open up to him when he takes her. She squirms under his touch for long moments until she suddenly sits up, putting a trembling hand on his chest, but not pushing him away.

 

    “Jaime,” she pants, her lips swollen from kisses. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”

 

    “Does it feel good?”

 

    “Doesn’t it feel _too_ good?” She drags her teeth over her lip, squeezing her firm thighs around his hand. “It feels too good,” she sighs faintly.  

 

    The moan that follows is so sweet that Jaime doesn’t stop to think before he pushes her smallclothes aside and brings his fingers to the wet folds beneath. Though he wants to groan out  loud at the feel of her, at the thought of sinking his fingers inside her, where she’s likely so tight that he’ll have to work for ages to get her ready on their wedding night and then embarrass himself by coming in ten seconds at the end of it all, he holds back.

 

    Brienne, for her part, slaps a hand over her mouth in time to stifle her cry, pushing against his touch. In mere moments, he watches her have what must be the first climax of her life. Jaime draws his hand back from under her skirts and brings his fingers to his mouth; she tastes like spring water. She watches with wide eyes, still breathing hard, as he cleans them thoroughly.

 

    “Did you like that, wench?”

 

    She sighs in the affirmative and adds, "It must be very wicked, to feel so good.”

 

    “What’s a bit of sin between husband and wife?”

 

    “We’re not husband and wife just yet, mind you.”

 

    “No, but when we are...I will make sure everyone in King’s Landing knows how well I’ve pleased my bride.”

 

    She kisses him fiercely, pushing him back onto the bed roll. She pulls away a few moments later and starts to speak when a sharp whistle cuts through the quiet night.

 

    “Come quickly!” he hears Loras call out, followed by the sound of he and Renly snorting and snickering like a pair of jackasses. Jaime curses them internally while he presses a hand over his cock with another stifled groan. If he looks straight ahead and thinks about ghastly things, it will probably go down by the time they reach the inn.

 

    Brienne gives him a bashful look and whispers, “Maybe next time.”

 

 _Maybe_ what _next time?_ She gets up from the bedroll before he can grab her and extract a more specific promise, and once they’ve packed it away and retrieved their horses, he races her back to the inn and kisses her what will have to be goodnight.

 

    “Til the morrow, my Lady.”

 

    “Til the morrow,” she leans in and whispers, “My Knight.”


	2. Arrivals Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne reflects and receives a midnight visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the chapter number changed because I wanted to post something, even if a short chapter, since it is taking so much longer than I expected. They keep having feelings!

Arrivals

Pt 2

  
  


Brienne sits across from Jaime when they break their fast the next morning at the inn. The food at the inn is impressive, really, but Brienne doesn’t taste any of it, as focused as she is on avoiding Jaime’s gaze, lest she possibly burst into flames.

 

The previous evening, she had discovered that riding horseback after a climax was quite a strange experience, and she hurried away when they arrived, much to Jaime’s amusement. Margaery was unfortunately still awake and with every intention of shaking her down for details.

 

    Brienne had quickly hid behind the dressing screen in the corner and slipped out of her gown. When she pulled her smallclothes down, she found them almost  _ soaking _ wet, and she made a noise that was half-disturbed and half-something else, loud enough that Margaery had enquired after her health.

 

    She had cleaned up hurriedly and put on her shift. To her astonishment, the perfectly soft linen suddenly rubbed against her nipples in a way they had never seemed to before. It would have been quite intriguing if her foster sister hadn’t been lying next to her. 

 

    This morning, her brain is a chaos of thoughts, but they return continuously to one topic: the awe-inducing looks of her fiance.

 

_     Gods, he’s handsome. I wonder if he knows I dreamt about him last night. Of course he does. Arrogant jerk. But so handsome. I can  _ feel _ him watching me. It felt so good when he touched me last night. Just look at your eggs, Brienne. I wonder what he did after we got back. I didn’t ask if he’s ever taken himself in hand like in that damned Dornish book. Would he have asked me to touch him that way? Ah, if only Loras hadn’t interrupted us. Oh! Did Jaime just lick his lips? Mm...he definitely did. He put honey in his tea this morning. He said I tasted sweet when he kissed me. His lips are nice...how can he be so handsome and truly want me? Can he act so well? Can a man’s cock play pretend? I wonder what it looks like. I think I will faint dead away when he takes his shirt off. I have turned into a wanton. Who wouldn’t, for him? _

 

    “ My lady,” she hears suddenly. She turns to look at Renly, who has enough genuine concern on his face for her to know she must be bright red. “Are you quite well? You’re very flushed.”

 

    “ I--I’m very well, Lord Renly, thank you, only I find the air--a bit...stifling? This morning.”

 

    “ Well, the fresh air on the ride will do you good,” Renly declares cheerfully.

 

_     By the Gods, is that his foot?!!! Of course it is. _

 

To her considerable surprise, Jaime doesn’t do anything lewd with his foot, just taps it against hers with a small smile. Her heart gives the unsettling jolt is tends to when he smiles. It doesn’t even really have to be at her. Not that he smiles at anyone else so much.

 

It’s a relief when they get back on the road, even though she gets stuck in the carriage with the ladies. At least they’re getting closer to King’s Landing. She tunes in and out of the conversation, which is mostly about eligible men they hope to meet in the capitol. Brienne remembers beating at least a few of them at the tourney at Highgarden, but she’s quite certain this isn’t the time or the company for such a tale.

 

When the party breaks for lunch, they cross eyes and both start for the tree line, hurrying enough that no one can stop them, either for food or to tell them they’re being improper.

 

“Afternoon, my Lady,” Jaime says, taking her hand. “Any idea where we’re going?”

 

“Not the faintest, my Lord. My explorations haven’t taken me quite this far, but I saw a brook on the way. Perhaps we can find it by ear.” Though she can still hear the merriment of their stopped party. Jaime agrees readily enough--neither of them cares about finding the brook, but walking farther from prying eyes seems like a good idea.

 

“Did you sleep well, my Lady?”

 

_ I was tormented by dreams of you.  _ “Very well, my Lord, and you?”

 

“Very well, indeed, after a private bath.”

 

“Oh?” Brienne says faintly, heat rising in her face, in her chest, in her belly.

 

“Yes. I’m sure you can imagine why.” Jaime leans in with a wicked grin. “I know your septa, remember?”

 

Brienne bites her lip for a brief moment and then simply replies, “I shared a bed with Margaery.”

 

He laughs at her misfortune, which is most inconsiderate, so she hits him on the arm, and he grabs her shoulders and they wrestle until they stumble into a tree and she lets him pin her there. He tastes like honey. He brings a hand up to her chest and grazes her breast, but she can hardly feel it through a shift, an undershirt, and an embroidered gown. He makes a face and complains that her old style of dress, with its’ bare skin and deep plunges, suited his purposes much better.

 

“What are you hiding under there, anyway?”

 

“Not much,” Brienne replies ruefully, pulling her hands up between them to cover herself, even over three layers, as if it will shield her from scrutiny. “But don’t worry, there will be plenty of milk for the babes, so says the maester,” she adds bitterly. “I hope you like children. To hear them speak of it, the baby will be born the day after the bloody wedding.” She pulls away abruptly and says, “Do you know my mother died in childbirth with twins? Twins run in both our families. The maester goes on about good hips, but women die that way all the time.”

 

“Are you frightened?”

 

She bites her lip for a moment and then answers, “Yes. I really am. At least if  _ you _ die young, it will be dramatic, worthy of legends and songs, like having your head chopped off with a famous sword on the battlefield or something. I’ll probably die in my own bed of blood loss.”

 

“Well, I’ll make sure your tomb in the family vault reads,  _ Lady Brienne Lannister; Died Giving Life to Her Children; Would Rather Have Had Her Head Chopped Off.” _

 

__ The thought of it it enough to shake a laugh out of her and help her cast off the sudden anxiety that has settled over her on and off these past few weeks, as she remembers that she has to look past the wedding, past the bedding, to her true duty as his wife.

 

“Brienne,” Jaime says, laying a hand on her arm. “You are brave, and strong, and you will be a good mother. Those are the best assets you can have. I admit I can’t truly protect you in this matter, but I will be by your side through anything if you let me.”

 

His words, lewd or sweet, always manage to take her aback. Her heart pounds so fiercely that she almost feels faint, unable to focus on anything but the burning green gaze of her fiance.

 

“I’ll let you.”

 

His answering smile is somehow both lewd and sweet itself. It would be the perfect moment for a less respectful gentlemen to seduce her—she could not possibly resist his touch at this moment—but he sits against the tree and motions for her to join him, in the circle of his arms. It’s impossibly sweet and he is a handsome and a knight and  _ how _ can he possibly like her, like  _ her _ , the ugly, over-size, tongue-tied Maid of Tarth?

 

She doesn’t think on it. There will be days on the road to test the resilience of her heart. It awaits some blow, some crack in this vision of fortune. And if it turns out to be a foolish fantasy—well, she will make damn sure the experience is worth it.

 

With this shockingly wicked thought, she tilts her head back and kisses him, pressing back into his body, settling only some of her weight against him until he grabs her about the waist and pulls her more fully into his lap.

 

And yet again, there is a godsdamn whistle! She swears she will hate that sound until her final breath!

 

“I’m coming to see you tonight,” he declares as they hurriedly straighten their clothes.

 

“What? How?”

 

“I’ll figure out a way,” he says confidently.

 

Brienne shrugs; she won’t be too hopeful, but he’d better not get in trouble. They start to walk back to the group when Brienne stops and turns to him, blurting out, “My legs.”

 

“Pardon, my Lady?” Jaime smirks in a manner that makes her suspect he knows exactly what she means.

 

“You said you wanted to see my legs,” she says, gathering courage at the same time that she gathers the hem of her skirts. She raises them and shows him the freckled, moon-pale skin of her thighs for just a moment, feeling impossibly bold, until she’s suddenly overwhelmed by embarrassment. She drops her skirts and runs back to their party, Jaime chasing her all the way, and the lecture she gets in the carriage about improper behavior can’t phase her a bit.

 

***

 

Brienne all but forgets about Jaime’s vow to visit her that night.

 

So she doesn’t think much of it when Margaery complains before dinner that she doesn’t feel well. She feels nothing but concern when Margaery is too nauseous to eat. Worry builds in her when Margaery gets a splitting headache and a fever.

 

Even when Margaery moans piteously that she wants to sleep with Septa Caspian, and has the wherewithal to add that she can’t get Brienne sick right before her wedding—not even then does she wonder.

 

Only when Septa Caspian agrees and leaves to get Margaery water and herbs does she realize, and only because Margaery grabs her arm and whispers, “Am I not brilliant, sister?”

 

_ Is she going mad with fever _ ? “Margie?...”

 

“Now you’ll be alone and Jaime can visit you,” Margaery exclaims, waggling her brows on the word ‘visit’.

 

Brienne’s mouth drops open for a moment. “That was all fake? You’re not sick at all?” Margaery shakes her head gleefully. “But you were so warm and clammy...”

 

“I stuck my face in the steam from a bowl of hot water! I’d make a brilliant mummer, don’t you think? I’ll keep Septa Caspian busy for a few hours and then pretend to wake up and feel better before anyone else gets up. Then he can sneak back out.”

 

“Margie, did you plan the whole thing yourself?”

 

“I did! Jaime asked for my help, but it was my idea.” She looks extremely pleased with herself.

 

“You shouldn’t do things like that,” Brienne says half-heartedly. There is no stopping Margaery from being clever.

 

“You’re welcome,” the younger girl says smugly. “Ah, there’s something I have to do!”

 

The pressing task turns out to be rubbing oils into Brienne’s hair, all the while sighing that it will smell like heaven and shine like the moon.

 

“Margie, you’ve been listening to too many songs. Just hurry up and brush it!”

 

Septa Caspian comes back just after Margaery has finished touching up her ‘fever face’ by sticking it close to the fire and then sprinkling water over it. It’s convincing enough that the septa says goodnight and swiftly ushers Margaery out of the room and down the hall, leaving Brienne alone.

 

Time seems to creep by. After an hour, she realizes no one ever mentioned how long she would have to wait. It’s awful. As soon as she closes the door on her septa, she’s torn between guilty thoughts about the lies Brienne let her believe, anxious thoughts of being caught, and relentless thoughts about where Jaime will touch her next...what will happen when there is no one to call them away.

 

But first—she waits.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are still enjoying this series, I love writing it, especially Brienne, as in this section.


	3. Arrivals Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrivals.

               


Arrivals

 

Part 3  
  
  


    Although Brienne’s anxious thoughts had long been overwhelmed by anticipation, she still finds it in herself to scold him for taking such a risk, though her voice dies away quickly when he comes closer and reaches out to touch the edge of her dressing gown.

 

    “So modest suddenly, wench?” He runs his fingers down, closer to the place where the robe is secured. “I don’t recall such shyness this afternoon, you vixen,” he says, his voice low and rough, almost a _growl_. His fingers close in and begin to loosen the knot. “Do you know how difficult it is to ride a horse when your cock is so hard it could cut glass?” Brienne shivers, both at his words and at the sensation of his hand skimming a hand over her belly when he loosely parts the robe.

 

    Underneath, she wears only her favorite pale blue night shift and a pair of new silk smallclothes that the seamstress claimed would make her ‘feel like a woman’. Brienne had rolled her eyes internally, certain that no mere scrap of silk could make _her_ feel like a woman. Now she has an inkling that perhaps it’s not the garment itself, but the thoughts going through one’s head when they put it on.

 

    She holds her breath and feels herself tremble as Jaime slips an arm under the robe and around her waist. He grasps a handful of the soft linen of her shift and says, “This is much nicer than those stiff gowns. I can actually _feel_ you under there,” punctuating his words with a firm hand on the small of her back, pulling her against him. Brienne bites down on a groan. “Gods, wench, just wait until our wedding night. There’ll be no keeping you quiet then,” he smirks.

 

    “Oh, I’m sure you’ll make enough noise for the two of us. You usually do.”

 

    “Shows what you know,” Jaime replies, reaching his hands up, big and warm, to cover her breasts, small and soft, her nipples peaked and aching at the drag of his palms. She takes a sharp breath and makes the smallest noise when she exhales. “Told you,” he says smugly.

 

    Brienne casts her eyes to the ceiling and says, “They’re too small.”

 

    “Mm, I think they’re the perfect size for a Lannister wench.” He closes his fingers around her nipples and grins at the moan that she cannot suppress. “Oh, yes, I think they’ll please me just fine. Now,” he says, grasping the edge of the robe again. “Will you take this off for me, my Lady?”

 

    She contemplates the suddenly very real possibility of him seeing her naked, thinks on the familiar frustration felt even just that morning upon examining herself in the mirror; frustration at her thick waist and beyond-modest bust and thighs thick from more time on a horse than is really suitable for a maiden. But idle time indoors has made her more and more restless of late, as their reunion grew closer.

 

    And though he hasn’t given the faintest indication that he plans to reject her, she’s seized by a dreadful certainty that this is wrong somehow, that she is not meant to be here and she has somehow, as some have claimed, gained something beyond her reach by some dishonest means--but she cannot for the life of her figure out what means those were! She has no idea why Jaime is so enamored with her.

 

    Just the day before, one of her companions, a grasping and plainly ambitious woman from a noble house with a daughter of four and ten, had posed the question. The girl’s behavior is respectful, but Brienne catches a bitter, spiteful look every now and then.

 

    After witnessing their reunion, Lady Westwood had looked as if her world had been shaken to its very foundations. “I heard, of course, that he was very fond of you, but--” _I never believed it!_ “--To see it is quite--” _An assault to everything I have ever known!_ “--Moving.” _Disturbing!_ She recovers herself with an awkward laugh and says, “What in the seven heavens did you do to make him so smitten?”

 

    She’s not entirely sure what the lady even means to imply. She can’t possibly think Brienne seduced him. That would be an affront to her honor, and with _what_ , anyway? It must be apparent after weeks on the road that she has little in the way of feminine charms. She can carry out the feminine actions--she can embroider and sing and dance and all that--but she doesn’t do it as a lady should, somehow. In Highgarden, it didn’t feel so unusual. The Tyrells are like family. Now, in front of others, it makes her feel like a godsdamn fool.

 

_Don’t ask me!!!_

 

    She doesn’t quite say that. With an even temper that she is very proud of, she replies, “I can assure you that I am as confused on the matter as you, Lady Westwood.”   

 

    Presently, she must take too long in answering, because Jaime gently brings the edges of her robe back together and begins to re-tie it. “You can keep it on for now if you prefer, but remember, I’ll have to see you naked sometime,” he grins. “Besides,” he adds, taking her hand and pulling her toward the bed. “We have all night, don’t we?”

 

    Her first instinct is to deny fear of any kind, but she is certain her face gives her away anyway, so she agrees and follows him to the bed. He pulls her against him and then surprises her utterly by holding her sweetly, his touch becoming chaste and turning the embrace into something that she can only think of as beautiful.

 

    They have the chance to speak freely for the first time since he arrived, so they talk about their companions, about the journey, about Casterly Rock, Tarth, anything they feel like. When she lays her head on his chest, the steady rumble of his voice there threatens to lull her to sleep.

 

    She asks if he’s excited to see his family in King’s Landing after a long time. He’s excited to see his brother, not sure about his sister and father. Brienne hasn’t gathered much information on Queen Cersei except that she is stunningly beautiful, extremely impatient, and not very nice, treasonous words whispered by passing nobles, maidens left in tears while the Queen smiled all the while.

 

    She can only hope that the Queen won’t take much notice of her—and there’s not much chance of that happening. Then she’ll have the scrutiny of his father, Tywin Lannister, a man feared across Westeros, who had decided her future, sight unseen, and somehow managed to do her a great favor.

 

    Brienne confesses that she’s apprehensive to meet her father after so long. “I’ve changed so much since I left Tarth, as not much more than a child. He’ll scarcely know me.”

 

    “It’s funny, isn’t it? People talk so much about family, then they send their children off as soon as they stop wetting the bed.” He takes her hand. “Promise we’ll let at least _one_ of ours stick around. I quite like children. We’ll teach them swordplay and swimming and climbing trees and whatever else we feel like.”

 

    “...Plus all the maester’s lessons, learning their letters, handwriting, memorizing house names and histories, trying to understand economics and the Iron Bank--”

 

    “Yes, don’t mention the boring stuff, wench.”

 

    Brienne scoffs and says, “Why do I have the feeling I’ll be the parent who always says ‘no’?”

 

    “ _Anyway_ , your father certainly can’t find any fault in you. You’re a credit to your house, Brienne.”

 

    _Running away from home, playing with swords, getting runs in my stockings, reading too much, being too melancholy, being unfeminine, too tall, too straight, too ugly…_

 

“You flatter me, my Lord.”

 

    “No. I will never flatter you, I will merely say the truth, and if you doubt my compliments, I’ll have to assume you think me a liar and I’ll be most offended.”

 

    “I don’t think you a liar,” she says quickly. “I...will try to take your compliments more graciously. Only...it may take some time.”

 

    Jaime shrugs and says, “We certainly have plenty of time.” Brienne finds that she can’t look at him when he says such things, so she lays her head on his shoulder. “Will you hide your face every time I pay you a compliment as well?”

 

    “...Will you let me?”

 

    “Certainly not. Well, maybe just for the moment and only because your head feels nice there.” He takes a breath. “And your hair smells nice.”

 

    “Rosemary and lavender.”

 

    Jaime yawns. “That’s why I feel sleepy.”

 

    “Maybe,” she yawns back.

 

    They fall asleep.

 

    An awful shame, but at least the sky is still dark as pitch when she awakes, so they are not out of time just yet.

 

    Her head has tipped back and she finds Jaime looking at her with a slight smile. “What are you doing?”

 

    “Just looking at you.”

 

    “But...why?”

 

    Jaime raises his eyebrows and says, “Is my modest wench fishing for compliments now?”

 

    It would be too cowardly to hide her face now. “Don’t mock me, Ser. Not on this. It is too cruel.”

 

    “I like to look at you,” he shrugs.

 

    “Why? You cannot possibly think me beautiful, unless you suffered a grave injury to your eyes.”

 

    “I have not.”

 

    “They call me the Ugliest Maid in Westeros, you know.”

 

    “Just because you have heard words from the mouths of others, kindly do not put them in mine, my Lady,” Jaime says, sitting up with a frown. “You think I can’t love you simply because others would wonder at it? Because I must warn you, Brienne, I delight in doing what  is not expected, so if you tell me I cannot, I will only be more determined to do so.”

 

    Seven help her, it’s like an unstoppable force and an immovable object. Although Brienne finds herself moved, oh, very much so.

 

    She sits up to meet his eyes and says, “I’m sorry, Jaime. I certainly don’t think you a liar.”

 

    “And yet.”

 

    “It’s difficult for me!” To her horror, she feels tears stinging her eyes.   

 

    Jaime sighs and flops back onto the bed beside her. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t seen your face in so long, or perhaps it’s because I will be looking at it for the rest of my life. Perhaps we were simply destined to be together. Who can say?”

 

    Brienne lays back down with a sigh of her own. “You will have to give me time, Jaime. But,” she says tentatively, turning onto her side to look at him. His profile is frustratingly perfect. “As you said...”

 

    He turns to meet her and says, “I’ll be patient. Perhaps I should apologize. I’m used to Lannisters, the most arrogant people in the Seven Kingdoms. I forget the concept of modesty, and I think you must be the most modest woman in Westeros.”

 

    “Only the most realistic.”

 

    “Now, one thing I won’t tolerate is you putting yourself down, and it counts even if it’s your own head, and I can tell when you’re doing it because you purse your lips like a disapproving septa. Just like that! I half expect you to go to the mirror and wag your finger at yourself.”

 

    And she certainly does scold herself in her head frequently, like a septa, although certainly a harsher one than Septa Caspian. She hadn’t realized she made a face when she did it and she wonders if anyone else has noticed. It seems impossible that no one has noticed...yet fitting, somehow, that Jaime would be the first.

 

    “I’ll scold _you_ , instead, then, how about that?”

 

    “Oh, I quite like it when you’re cross and bossy. Your eyes look exceptionally beautiful when you’re about to punch me.”

 

    “It’s not befitting for a lady to punch her lord husband.”

 

    “You’re not a lady, you’re a wench, but I don’t think Olenna Tyrell would appreciate me calling you that in public.”

 

    “She’d likely box your ears, Lannister or not.” She is very acutely aware of the fact that he said _love_ , that she thinks he can’t _love_ her, no lukewarm terms like ‘fond of’ or ‘care for’;  the most tender sentiments she might have once expected from a husband. She isn’t entirely sure she knows what love is supposed to feel like. She had thought herself in love with Renly once, for heavens’ sake. But this breathless, dizzy feeling is nothing if not the thing they describe in poems.

 

    There will be a time to name things--but not on this night, slowly slipping by on the other side of the door, morning waiting to take them by surprise.

 

    Pressed by that thought, Brienne moves closer and lays one leg over his. Jaime reaches down and grabs it and she marvels for a moment at the sight of his skin against hers, skin that no one has ever touched. His hands are rough with callouses in a few places, something she had never accounted for when she imagined this, so the sensation is so unexpected that she lets out a shaken moan before she can think.

 

    Jaime has pulled her leg up higher and pressed against her before she has even closed her mouth. Even with his breeches on, she thinks she can feel the shape of him between her thighs, throbbing, rubbing against her until she grows so wet that she can feel the silk of her lovely new smallclothes sticking to her flesh when he pulls away.

 

    He tears his tunic off and Brienne thinks that being allowed to touch Jaime Lannister must be one of the greatest blessings in the seven kingdoms.  

 

    He pushes her shift further up her legs, but he doesn’t settle between them--he stops, kneeling there and watching her with a gaze that feels scorching, pushing them further apart and leaning in.

 

    Her breath catches almost painfully in her throat and her body trembles as she realizes what he plans to do, something she had heard tell of, and which was said to be so wonderful that it could not possibly as wonderful as they said.

 

    This is the first time Brienne learns that married life may be different from what she expected, because it _is_ wonderful; if anything, all those whispers had undersold it! Even as good as it feels at first--so good that she finds herself spreading further for him and pushing against the heat of his mouth, so good that it’s almost unbearable--she knows it will culminate in something so powerful that she’s almost frightened.

 

    Then any thought at all is driven from her head when Jaime begins to work in earnest, keeping her in place with a firm grip that is barely enough to keep her on the bed. Her pale thighs will bruise and perhaps the idea shouldn’t cause a surge of heat through her, but it does. She buries her hands in his hair, as soft as it looks, scratches her short nails across his broad, muscled shoulders.

 

    When it is all over, she is too dazed to move, let alone speak, so she lays silent and still trembling while Jaime whispers husky words--about how much he liked watching her and how he would have to do it often--perhaps in the bath-- _definitely_ in the bath--perhaps they’d have a custom bath made even though everyone in Westeros would know it was so he could have her in the tub--all the while running his hands over her. The shift has begun to feel rather in the way.

 

    And she is too relaxed to feel self-conscious, and he will see her soon enough, and she wants him to touch her again already somehow, so she pulls it off. Jaime gives a nod of acknowledgement at the concession and that is all before he pulls her close, kissing her so hard that she is certain her lips will be swollen and tender half the day, tormenting her with memories.

 

    His hands rove over every bit of her, seemingly content to go on like this, but she can feel his hardness against her, steady and pulsing, and frankly, she wants to watch him.    

 

    Brienne is happy for the first time _not_ to have delicate, lady-like hands when she discovers how hard and unyielding it is, and again when Jaime sighs that it feels perfect. It’s a simple enough concept, and Jaime is certainly enjoying it, but everytime he licks his lips, her mind--and body--flash back to what he had done with his mouth and she’s overcome by an impulse, a desire so obscene, so wanton, that it will, of course, absolutely not leave her mind until she even finds her mouth-- _watering_!

 

    “Jaime,” she says hesitantly. Jaime makes an utterly incoherent noise that she takes as a cue to go on. “What you did before…” He _does_ have the presence of mind to smirk, of course. “You can do it...the other way around…” Her voice is so breathless and downright _keen_ that she’d maybe be embarrassed if it didn’t cause Jaime to groan and push his himself into her grip.

 

    “You don’t have to.”

 

    “I want to,” she answers firmly.

 

    With dark eyes, Jaime says, “That’s good.” He reaches out and rubs his thumb across her bottom lip. “Because I think about it every fucking time I look at your mouth, wench.”

 

    And somehow she is, after all this, scandalized enough to say, “Jaime!” and smack his arm.

 

    “Ahh, but you know I love it when you cry out my name like that.”

 

    They arrange themselves at the edge of the bed, seated and standing. Brienne grasps the edges of his breeches and doesn’t allow herself to hesitate before she tugs them down. She _does_ take a moment to appreciate the sight of him, every bit strong and toned, before she leans in with determination.

 

    The first thing she registers is _heat_ , so much hotter on her tongue than in her hand. Then, a taste that’s both salty and sweet, sticky and heady. She presses forward, seeing how she could get the hang of this, especially when she hears the noises she can draw out of her fiance and when she feels his hands in her hair. However, it feels like she’s really hardly begun-- _wanton!_ \--when he urges her back, groaning and replacing her mouth with his hand for only a few rough strokes before whatever it is that comes out, comes out, in an absolute _jet_ that she had assumed was an embellishment by the artist when she had seen a picture of it.

 

    But before she has time to process this, it occurs to her--she’s in the way. In the same instant that she feels warm wetness striping her chest. A small, still-pragmatic part of her is glad after all that she took the shift off.

 

    She looks down in something like disbelief for a moment, the streaks gleaming and pale against her flushed, freckled skin, before Jaime comes to his senses and retrieves a wet cloth from the basin. He apologizes sheepishly while he cleans her up and she just shakes her head mutely, still feeling dazed, and light as whipped cream even as she thinks that she could sleep for a day. Jaime asks if he’s left her speechless and she nods earnestly.

 

    They settle on the bed, but it isn’t long before there’s a scraping at the door--apparently Margaery’s signal. They hurriedly make themselves presentable, for what it’s even worth in the situation, and share one final, brief kiss.

 

    “I believe it’s six days now, wench. May they pass quickly.”

 

    He and Margaery silently pass each other and he disappears into the dark hall.  Margaery’s eyes gleam with curiosity, but she simply says, “You will tell me everything in the carriage tomorrow.”

 

    Brienne has already planned to ride alongside Jaime tomorrow, so she readily agrees...with her fingers crossed.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope it was fun for you. I tried to keep the characters faithful while also taking changes into account. 
> 
>  
> 
> I don't intend to continue this series at the moment.


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